


One More Time

by LizzieCarlton



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Teasing, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieCarlton/pseuds/LizzieCarlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a summer romance, Mycroft and Greg meet once more at University. Only this time, Mycroft's playing hard to get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mystrade-and-johnlock-fangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mystrade-and-johnlock-fangirl).



> Inspired by a prompt from mystrade-and-johnlock-fangirl.

When Greg had first met Mycroft it had been early summer. The days were getting longer and the nights warmer. They had spent their first few weeks at the summer camp eyeing each other furtively when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

The camp had been populated by rich kids from London, sent to France by overworked parents eager to shrug off their responsibility for a few short months. Greg was not one of them; he was there to help, to cook, to clean. He just wanted to earn some money and escape the confines of his grandparents’ villa. Yet somehow he had fitted. People liked Greg. He had good looks, a sense of humour, and a ready smile.

Mycroft Holmes however, was an anomaly. He did not fit in with the other boys. He was too quiet, too rich, too uninterested in meaningless pranks and games. To be frank, he was not interested in being involved. The boy favoured books over conversation, and was rarely to be found unaccompanied by a lengthy novel.

He was, however, uncommonly attractive, or so Greg thought. During his time at the camp he has pursued the other boy intently. The tall, slim figure with his pale skin and fiery red hair had drawn him in and left him hopelessly infatuated.

Mycroft hadn’t seemed to mind when Greg began sitting with him instead of the other boys. In fact, he barely acknowledged his presence. But during the warm summer evenings they stayed slumped together in the shade; Mycroft reading and Greg watching him, the voices of the other campers blurred and faded in the distance.

As the passing days had become steadily warmer, Mycroft had seemed increasingly distracted, turning his pages before he could possibly have had chance to finish them, his eyes remaining fixed on the same spot and taking nothing in.

One night he had set his book aside, and turned to look at Greg instead. Their arms were pressed tightly together as they reclined against a tree stump by the lake’s shore. It was late, and the sky was growing dark, the sweet smell of pine trees was fresh in the air. Mycroft had opened his mouth, as if to ask him a question, but before he could form the words, Greg pressed their lips together. And then they were kissing in the indigo light.

They had barely spoken before they were making out every evening. And they barely spoke then, they just got on with in it; in the woods; in the boathouse; by the lake; in an abandoned pick-up truck. Furious, heated kissing which had them both hot and hard, which kept them there all night until they both finally came- rutting against each other and still fully clothed in the early hours of the morning.

He remembered the first time he’d fucked him. His first time with anyone. Mycroft’s pale skin glowing in the moonlight beneath him. His body tight and warm. The noises he’d made. It had been their last night there; their last night together, and afterwards they hadn’t let each other go. They’d just clung to each other, until the sun rose and the sounds of voices had drifted towards them through the trees.

Mycroft had written to him once since then, and Greg had tried to write back, but had lost sight of what he was trying to say beneath piles of crumpled paper, ink blots and scribbled out words.

He supposed that’s why, when they met again two years later, his smile was answered with little more than an icy glare from the same boy, by then fully grown and strolling across the university campus with an umbrella instead of a book tucked under his arm.

‘Mycroft,’ he called after him, abandoning his friends in order to chase him across the courtyard.

‘Lestrade,’ Mycroft intoned, stopping and turning to face him with a resigned sigh. ‘How pleasant to see you again.’

Greg had no idea what to say to him. In the time they’d been apart Mycroft had morphed from an ungainly teenager into a tall, handsome man. A familiar dusting of freckles remained, but his hair was darker and his features more sharply defined.

‘I didn’t know you’d be here.’

‘Neither did I,’ Mycroft sniffed, ‘unfortunately my work has made it impossible for me to attend Oxford as I had originally intended.’ He didn’t meet Greg’s eye. Instead, he stared distractedly into the distance, his lips pursed.

Greg had a sudden flashback to kissing those lips, to touching that skin. ‘Do you want to get a drink?’ he asked.

‘No, Gregory, I have no intention of having sex with you again,’ Mycroft told him blandly. ‘Good day.’

‘Oi,’ Greg called after him, as he strutted away, taking the opportunity to check out his arse. He could be persistent. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

The young man turned to him and raised his eyebrows, swinging him umbrella at his side.

‘I just fancied a chat,’ Greg continued.

Mycroft examined him from head to toe, and Lestrade wondered if he was right in thinking he liked what he saw. ‘You didn’t write.’

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ Greg shook his head. ‘I tried, but I’m not good with words. Not like you.’ He stepped closer again, thinking he spotted a flicker of a smile on the other man’s lips.

‘Don’t think I’ll let you seduce me again,’ Mycroft told him, folding his arms and tilting his head to one side coquettishly.

‘Okay…’ Greg shrugged. ‘Did I mention I like that suit?’

‘Thankfully not.’ Mycroft smoothed the fabric, and flicked a stray auburn curl from his eyes.

‘You look very sexy in it.’

‘Do I really?’ The man’s eyes were beginning to sparkle in amusement.

‘Yeah… can we have that drink now?’

Mycroft bit his lip, finally meeting his eye. ‘Alright,’ he agreed, with a slow nod. They turned and walked away together across the grass. ‘I’m not going to have sex with you though’

Greg just grinned. He knew when he was in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get heated

‘I still haven’t forgiven you,’ Mycroft told him, watching him from a seat at the pub table, his arms crossed primly on top of it. The room was crowded, noisy and shrouded in cigarette smoke. From the kitchen, the smell of chips wafted towards them.

‘Eh?’ Greg, set two overflowing pints down on the scarred wood, pushing one towards his companion and taking a long gulp of his own.

‘You took advantage of me,’ Mycroft huffed, sipping daintily at his pint. ‘You corrupted my innocence.’

Greg chuckled, already enjoying himself. ‘Did I really?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft frowned, ‘I was a virgin when I met you.’

‘I was a virgin when I met _you_ ,’ Greg shrugged.

‘Oh…’ the man raised his eyebrows in surprise, turning slightly pink and becoming absorbed in his drink, swallowing it with renewed fervour.

‘You corrupted _me_.’ Greg parroted with a smirk. He leaned across the table, placing himself firmly in his date’s personal space. ‘And you enjoyed it.’

Mycroft cleared his throat, his blush spreading to his ears, which began to glow pink in the soft, golden light. ‘I did not,’ he told the table, smoothing his tie carefully.

Leaning back in satisfaction, Greg watched him from over the rim of his glass. They fell into a heavy silence, meeting each other’s eyes every so often, and staring until one of them smiled and looked away.

‘Do you remember the time in that truck?’ Greg eventually asked.

‘No.’ Mycroft’s eyes widened innocently.

‘Yeah you do.’

‘It must have slipped my mind,’ the man said smoothly, a smile playing around the corners of his lips. ‘But I’m glad I made an impression.’

‘Oh, you made an impression,’ Greg assured him, licking his lips. He gestured at Mycroft’s empty glass. ‘Another drink?’

‘I hope you’re not trying to intoxicate me?’ Mycroft looked slightly tipsy already, apparently not accustomed to drinking. He leaned forward and batted his eyelashes seductively.

‘I am now.’

Greg leaned on the bar as he ordered their drinks, watching his date attempting to avoid looking at him from across the room. From his vantage point he could see the man’s legs stretched out beneath the table, several inches longer than when he had last seen them. He wondered briefly if Mycroft has grown as much elsewhere.

‘I decided you’re not really a beer kind of guy,’ he told him as he returned, setting a tall glass down in front of him.

Mycroft frowned at the pink drink within, giving it a delicate sniff. ‘What is this?’

‘Sex on the beach,’ Greg smirked.

‘Ah,’ Mycroft turned a delicate shade of pink to match his drink. ‘I see.’

‘Like we had… remember?’ Greg relocated to the other side of the table, and scraped his chair across the oak floor, drawing it closer to Mycroft.

‘Mm-hm,’ Mycroft twiddled his thumbs, apparently oblivious to their close proximity. ‘That won’t be happening again.’

Pouting, Greg took a gulp of his own drink, another pint of lager. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ he asked, his mind on his most recent date which had ended forcibly when his company’s lover had stormed in and thrown him out of the bed.

Mycroft shook his head. ‘No.’ He paused, swallowing half his drink in one. ‘…do you?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I was merely making conversation.’

‘Right…’ Greg shifted closer to whisper in his ear, thoroughly aware of the way the man leaned in to the motion. His mouth brushed the lobe. ‘Want to make conversation elsewhere?’

‘Where?’ Mycroft frowned in confusion, turning to face him and leaving them mere inches apart.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Greg smiled at him cheerfully, running a hand up one long thigh, ‘my bedroom?’

‘Ah… no,’ Mycroft’s fingers close around his wrist, pushing him away. ‘I meant what I said,’ he insisted, not letting go of Greg’s hand. ‘I’m not going to have sex with you.’

‘You’re going to hold my hand instead?’

Mycroft dropped his hand as if it were burning. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You were doing it.’

‘I was not.’

A couple at a nearby table begin kissing, and Greg scowled, lamenting his misfortune. They sat without speaking as he pressed his thigh into Mycroft’s, noting with satisfaction that the man didn’t pull away.

It took another two drinks, before Mycroft would let him rub his thigh, and one more again before he was allowed to start kissing his neck.

‘Mm,’ Mycroft mumbled. They were both thoroughly drunk by now. ‘Stop it.’

Greg breathed out heavily into the man’s collar, eyeing up the piece of skin he wanted to sink his teeth in to. ‘really?’

‘No,’ Mycroft murmured, stretching his neck out and letting him fasten his lips back onto it. He sucked at the delicate skin there, flickering his tongue over it and scraping against the spot with his teeth.

‘Are you going to have sex with me yet?’ Greg pulled back to ask as the man let out a little moan.

Mycroft jumped as if only just realising what he was doing. ‘Absolutely not,’ he grumbled, standing up shakily and bumping into the table behind, whose occupants had been watching them in amusement.

Greg followed him out of the pub, watching him stumble into the darkening evening, his head held high even as he wobbled drunkenly out of the door. Outside the air was cool, and a steady drizzle falling. Mycroft attempted to put up his umbrella, backing away from Greg, and ended up against the pub wall, his umbrella inside out in his hands.

‘Hey,’ Greg took the thing from him, ‘let me walk you home.’

‘No,’ Mycroft shook his head. ‘You’ll seduce me.’

‘Nah, you’re too drunk,’ Greg attempted to sort out the umbrella as the drizzle turned into a downpour before tossing it to one side, deciding it was a lost cause.

‘I’m not.’

‘Oh, really?’ Greg asked, as Mycroft’s hands rested on his shoulders. He leaned in for a kiss but was offered a cheek.

‘Just balancing on you,’ Mycroft told him, smugly.

‘Right,’ Greg slipped an arm around his waist and led him away from the pub. The rain began to crash down heavily on the pavement, and a cold wind swept through them. ‘Which way?’ he asked, as they reached the road, watching the headlight’s of cars reflected mistily on the wet tarmac as they swept by.

He groaned as Mycroft named a neighbourhood at the other end of the city. ‘You’re kidding?’

‘Alas, no,’ Mycroft sighed, looking up and pouting melodramatically at the sky. A flash of lightening illuminated its inky blackness and they both jumped as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Soaked to the skin by now, Greg turned around, heading for a block of flats nearby. ‘You can crash at mine.’

‘Crash?’ Mycroft slurred questioningly as he was ushered towards the building. ‘No sex.’

‘No sex,’ Greg agreed pushing him up the path. Mycroft slumped against him, his lips brushing distractingly against his jaw as he turned the key in the lock.

Once in through the door, they stumbled dripping wet into the elevator and reclined against the wall as they caught their breath. Looking up as he pressed the button for the fourth floor, Greg noticed Mycroft watching him intently. He smiled encouragingly and leaned in to nibble again at his neck. When his advances weren’t refused, he moved his mouth to the man’s lips and kissed him hard. The man’s mouth opened willingly and they ignored the click of the doors sliding open in favour of snogging heatedly in the elevator.

‘I’ll take the stairs then,’ an amused female voice called out behind them.

Spooking at the sound, Mycroft made a muffled noise of protest and gave Greg a firm push, shoving him out of the lift.

‘Like it rough now?’ Greg asked, growing increasingly aroused as Mycroft slinked past him, keeping him at arm’s length.

‘I’d like to get warmed up’ the man sniffed, gesturing at his damp clothes. He paused outside Greg’s flat. ‘Open the door.’

‘I can warm you up,’ Greg grinned wrapping himself around him as he fitted his key into the lock. ‘How did you know this was my flat?’

‘I’m clever,’ Mycroft declared, pushing through the door as it opened, apparently oblivious to the fact Greg’s hand was resting on his arse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft struggles to resist.

Once inside, Mycroft looked a little lost. He peered around the tiny flat, his eyes skimming over the empty beer bottles on the coffee table, the piles of books, the faded leather sofa. The kitchen and living room were cramped into the same small space. The door to the bedroom was wide open, and Mycroft’s gaze flickered towards it. Greg pulled the front door closed behind them, shrugging out of his sodden coat. The room was a mess, and he knew for a fact that the bedroom wasn’t much better.

‘Here,’ he said, approaching Mycroft from behind and resting his hands on his shoulders. His suit jacket was damp with rain. ‘Let me take your jacket.’

‘What else are you planning to take?’ the man teased, sliding out of the heavy fabric and letting Greg slip his arms around his waist and press up against his back.

‘Your shirt is a little damp too,’ Greg murmured in his ear, running his hands over the smooth chest beneath the fabric. He teased a nipple through the silky material, rubbing his fingers over it as Mycroft stood completely still in front of him, his breathing growing heavier. Turning the man around to face him, Greg undid the silky tie at the his collar, pausing to kiss his neck as he did so, and then setting to work undoing the shirt buttons.

Mycroft made a peculiar whimpering noise as Greg’s lips began following his fingers, trailing a path of kisses down the freshly revealed skin. His shirt fully unbuttoned, Greg stood up straight and crushed their lips together, pressing his tongue forwards to invade the man’s mouth. It wasn’t until he began tugging at the man’s belt buckle that Mycroft protested, stumbling backwards away from him to sit down on the sofa.

Greg released his hold on the man’s belt but followed him, moving to straddle him on the cracked leather of the sofa cushions and peppering kisses along his jaw. Their mouths met once more, and after a moment of hesitation, the other man’s arms slid around his neck, keeping him in place.

 ‘You’re a very bad man,’ Mycroft mumbled drunkenly against his lips. ‘I won’t do it.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘But I can kiss you?’

‘N-no,’ Mycroft pushed him back, breathing heavily. His eyes flickered down to the distended fabric at Greg’s crotch. His old denim jeans were slightly too tight, and doing very little to disguise how aroused he was. ‘Mummy always said you were a bad influence.’

‘Did she?’

‘Yes.’

Greg shuffled back on Mycroft’s lap in order to look pointedly at the man’s own erection, straining against the fabric of his suit trousers. ‘But you like that.’

‘Yes.’ Mycroft agreed hopelessly as Greg sucked his earlobe into his mouth. ‘I mean, no. Not at all.’

Greg rubbed a hand over the other man’s clothed erection, earning himself a tortured moan, before he was thrown off the sofa, landing with a bump on the floor. Mycroft chuckled above him, before stretching out on his back on the sofa, and closing his eyes. After a few moments, he grabbed a cushion and covered his crotch.

A little disorientated, Greg laid his head back against the carpet, staring at the man curled up on his sofa whilst he tried to catch his breath. ‘Sleepy?’ he asked, once he’d begun to feel slightly less horny.

‘Mm,’ Mycroft nodded. ‘Yes. Bring me a blanket.’           

‘Don’t you want to share my bed?’ Greg asked with a grin.

‘No,’ Mycroft insisted.

‘We don’t have to have sex.’

‘We don’t?’ the man opened his eyes and raised a brow suspiciously.

‘No.’ Greg clambered to his feet and offered his hand. ‘You’ll be uncomfortable here.’

Mycroft nodded slowly, taking his hand and allowing himself to be pulled up. ‘For comfort’s sake only,’ he warned as Greg half carried him into the bedroom.

‘Pyjamas?’ Greg offered as the man climbed onto his bed. ‘Or do you sleep naked?’

‘No,’ Mycroft huffed, accepting the clothes.

Leaving him to it, Greg disappeared into the ensuite. He stared at himself in the mirror, wondering whether or not he had time for a wank. If Mycroft wasn’t going to shag him, he doubted he’d thank him for climbing into bed with a hard-on. He settled for splashing himself with cold water instead, wincing as he did so, before stripping to his tshirt and boxers and hurriedly brushing his teeth. He mussed his hair up in the mirror, checking his reflection one last time before re-entering the bedroom.

Mycroft looked at him in wry amusement, already curled up under the covers. He smirked and raised his eyebrows suggestively. ‘You took a while.’

‘I wasn’t doing that,’ Greg rolled his eyes, wishing he had after all.

‘Of course not,’ Mycroft slipped out of the bed and sauntered past him into the bathroom, swaying a little as he passed. For a drunken man in striped pyjamas he looked remarkably composed, although still hard, Greg noted in satisfaction.

He returned shortly afterwards, pink faced and no longer erect.

‘Have fun?’ Greg asked wryly, wishing he had done the same. Still, at least one of them had had an orgasm. ‘I could have given you a hand.’

‘I wasn’t doing that,’ Mycroft frowned, slipping under the covers and lying stiffly on the very edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible.

Greg rolled onto his side and watched him carefully. ‘Can I kiss you goodnight?’

‘No,’ Mycroft said, his eyes drifting closed.

They lay in silence for what seemed like an age, their breathing the only sound in the room. Eventually Mycroft let out a long sigh, before clearing his throat pointedly.

Smirking to himself Greg pretended to be asleep.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft hissed, poking him in the ribs.

‘Mm?’ Greg murmured, opening one eye.

‘I’ve changed my mind.’ The sheets rustled as the man shuffled closer.

‘About what?’

Mycroft glowered at him in the semi-darkness, before rolling on top of him and pressing their foreheads together. Greg slipped his arms around the man’s waist, and opened his mouth willingly as their lips brushed.

They spent the night kissing frantically in his bed, their tongues battling as they crushed their bodies together, tumbling and turning, each man fighting for dominance. It was early morning when Mycroft finally rolled off him. Greg’s groan as Mycroft’s thigh brushed his erection through the fabric of his underwear seemed to startle him and he pulled away, breathing heavily. His warmth and weight disappeared and Greg found himself feeling horribly alone at his side of the bed. He gave the man a few minutes before shuffling closer, pressing his chest to his back and wrapping an arm around him. He brushed gentle kisses against the revealed skin of Mycroft’s pale shoulder and they drifted into sleep together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Morning After

When Greg awoke the room was still shrouded in semi-darkness, the smell of stale alcohol pungent in the air. His mouth was dry and a headache throbbed behind his temples. Mycroft wasn’t there. Greg rolled over and rubbed his eyes, to be greeted by the sight of the man with his back to him, already fully dressed and fastening his tie in the bedroom mirror. The man’s eyes were bleary, his hair was tousled, and a shading of stubble darkened his jaw.

‘You don’t do morning sex, then?’ Greg teased, stretching out and wriggling his toes under the sheets.

Mycroft turned to look at him. Their eyes met before his gaze drifted to the window. The sky outside was grey and gloomy. ‘It’s stopped raining,’ he said.

‘So?’

‘So, I will leave now.’ He smiled coolly. ‘Thank you for your hospitality.’

‘Hold on,’ Greg pushed back the sheets, not failing to notice the way Mycroft’s eyes flickered down to his bare legs. ‘Can I have your number?’

Mycroft hesitated before taking the pen Greg thrust at him. ‘Paper?’

‘You can write it on my hand,’ Greg said, offering his arm for Mycroft to hold.

‘What an honour,’ the man sneered, but his hand trembled slightly as he scrawled the digits onto his skin. He gripped Greg’s forearm as he wrote, his grasp warm and tight.

Greg smiled as he finished. ‘Can I take you for dinner tonight?’

‘You’re trying to date me,’ Mycroft observed.

‘Yes, please.’

The man avoided his eye, slipping past him into the living room. He began pulling on his shoes. ‘I already have a date for this evening.’ He muttered the words at the floor, in a way which made Greg think he was lying.

‘I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend?’

‘Not yet,’ Mycroft smirked, standing up straight. He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms defensively.

‘Well what about tomorrow?’ Greg pressed, as the man slid away from him towards the front door. He found himself wishing he had stayed longer, for food and coffee and maybe a round in the bedroom.

‘Perhaps.’ Shrugging his agreement, Mycroft offered his cheek, his hand already on the door handle. ‘You may kiss me goodbye, if you like.’

Greg shook his head despairingly, struggling to suppress a smile. Determined to make an impression he leaned in and fastened his teeth to the man’s cheekbone, sucking hard enough to mark him and licking his jaw as he pulled away.

Mycroft blinked at him twice before turning away and pulling open the apartment door. With a long stride and not so much as a goodbye he set off towards the elevator. He didn’t once look back.

Closing the door behind him, Greg let out a ragged sigh before making a dive for the window. He waited for the man to emerge from the building, pleased to see him looking slightly flustered now, checking his reflection in a car window before going on his way.

‘You’re a tease, Mycroft Holmes,’ he called after him, watching his stroll away down the street.

The man paused, turning to look up over his shoulder. He placed one hand on his hip and blew him a kiss before disappearing around the corner.

Grinning to himself, Greg pulled away from the window, slamming it shut in satisfaction. He turned on the old radio and jived into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, singing along to The Clash as he went.

When the doorbell rang that lunchtime he was still in his boxers and a tshirt but he opened the door without hesitation and pulled in his neighbour, Molly Hooper, who stood as expected on the other side. The radio still blaring in the background, he grabbed her hands and waltzed her around the living room, an expression of the utmost dignity on his face until they both tripped and fell, laughing, onto the sofa.

‘How did it go?’ Molly asked with a giggle, reclining into the cushions. ‘I saw you got lucky last night.’

‘You did?’ Greg frowned, standing up and disappearing into the bedroom for a pair of jeans. ‘Were you in the pub?’ he called from the other room.

‘No. Is that where you met?’

Greg ignored the question. Returning to find Molly spread out over the entire sofa, he sat cross legged in the middle of the coffee table and folded his arms. ‘Where did you see me?’

‘In the lift,’ Molly blushed, ‘Snogging a tall, pale man with red hair and freckles.’

‘Auburn,’ Greg corrected automatically.

‘So, how did it go?’ Molly asked. She swept a stray strand of hair from out of her face and, resting her head on a cushion, eyed him with interest.

Greg widened his eyes innocently. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Did you…’ discovering a withered jelly baby lurking between his sofa cushions, Molly paused and flicked it at him with an expression of disgust. ‘Did you have sex?’

‘Loads of it,’ Greg teased, watching her turn pink. ‘In the kitchen, on the bed, in the shower… on that sofa.’ He chuckled as she jumped off it in alarm. ‘All night long.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ Greg pulled her onto the coffee table with him, shoving a pile of old magazines on the floor. An old rock and roll record began playing on the radio. ‘He came five times.’

Molly gawped at him. ‘No!’

‘Yep,’ Greg stretched his arms out and yawned. ‘And then twice again this morning.’

‘He did not,’ Molly pushed him with surprising force, her wiry body hiding her strength. She relocated back to the sofa and stretched out on it confidently. ‘You’re teasing me. I bet he didn’t even shag you.’

Sighing morosely, Greg stood up, and headed into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on and rummaging in the cupboards for clean mugs.

‘Oh,’ Molly murmured behind him. He heard her shifting uncomfortably on the sofa cushions. ‘He didn’t, did he?’

‘Nope.’ Locating tea bags, Greg began to pour their drinks. ‘He stayed over though.’ He splashed milk into the mugs, before passing one to Molly who accepted it with a wrinkled nose and sniffed at it suspiciously. ‘And we did make use of that sofa,’ Greg added.

Molly sighed, and slid onto the carpet, setting her tea to one side. ‘You left the tea bag in.’

‘Oh, shit,’ Greg peered into the mug. ‘So I did.’


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunting him down

The next morning was a Sunday and Greg slept in until mid-day, as was his custom at the weekend. He woke up with a yawn to see pale sunlight infiltrating his curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow.

Stretching out beneath the covers, he wondered how Mycroft’s date had gone last night, if he had really had one. He imagined the man waking up naked in someone else’s bed, wrapped around them, sticky with their come. With a groan he reached beneath the covers to palm his hardening cock through his boxers and imagined himself in the stranger’s place. Greg didn’t often have to pursue his love interests for long, and Mycroft’s games were beginning to frustrate him.

He rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock, the now slightly damp cotton of his boxers slipping silkily around it. The ghost of Mycroft’s erection was still pressing against his thigh, and he pushed a hand into his pants, grasping himself firmly as he remembered the sensation with clarity. The man wanted him too; Greg was sure of it. The only question that remained was how to get him.

He grunted, remembering their first and only time together, on the cooling sand of the lake’s beach during that short summer two years ago. It was a memory he often found himself slipping back into when he pleasured himself, and he increased his pace, squeezing his eyes closed as he imagined himself thrusting into the man again now. Mycroft’s body would be just as tight, and he would make those little whimpering noises beneath him, begging him to speed up as they both reached climax. He would swear softly in that posh, silky voice, and come with a shout, calling out Greg’s name as he powered roughly into.

Greg tensed beneath the covers, his hand moving hard and fast over his length as he sought his own release. His orgasm burnt through him and he gasped in relief, sinking back into the mattress, his boxers soaked with come.

He waited a couple of hours before phoning Mycroft, the numbers faded yet still legible on his skin. With a cup of steaming, black coffee, he settled into his old leather sofa and slowly keyed in the digits, his heart thumping in anticipation as the phone began to ring.

An elderly woman answered, her voice cracked and trembling. No she assured him, there was no Mycroft there. And yes, he _had_ got the wrong number.

Greg apologised politely before hanging up and throwing the phone across the room.

It took him another week to track the man down again. Although he asked virtually everyone he met, nobody seemed to know who Mycroft Holmes was. Although a few people nodded vaguely when he described a tall man in a three piece suit, carrying an umbrella. If Mycroft wanted to play hard to get, he was perfectly willing to humour him but he was determined not to let the man slip away.

It wasn’t until he tried the library that he had any luck although he also received disapproving stares from almost everyone in there as he wandered from table to table, making loud-voiced enquiries. On the second floor of the library a slim, brunette girl with full lips and wide eyes looked up at the sound of Mycroft’s name, catching his eye from across the room. He headed over.

‘Any chance you know a bloke called Mycroft?’ he asked, leaning over her table.

‘I might do.’ She set her pen aside, and tossed her hair back from her face so as to look at him properly. Her eyes raked curiously over him. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I want to take him on a date,’ Greg shrugged, sitting down in the opposite chair. He smiled charmingly at her.

She giggled. ‘Really?’

‘What’s funny?’

‘Mycroft doesn’t go on dates,’ she explained chidingly. She picked up her pen and returned to work.

Greg clapped his hands together excitedly, drawing angry stares from the surrounding students. ‘You know him then.’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you give me his number?’ Greg asked hopefully, pulling out a scrap of paper and pushing it towards her from across the table.

The girl giggled. ‘No.’ She looked up at him assessingly, before giving him a conspiratorial smile. ‘I can tell you where he lives though.’

…

Greg clutched the worn piece of paper in his hands as he wandered around Notting Hill. He looked up at the tall Victorian town houses surrounding him. Of course he already knew Mycroft was rich, but this area still seemed a little extravagant for a first year University student.

As he turned the corner onto the man’s street, he paused for a moment, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The street was quiet and still. On either side of the road, rows of immaculately kept houses stretched out before him, their walls gleaming in the midday light.

The apartment block which Library Girl had directed him to sat halfway down the street. Greg paused outside the locked gate before climbing over it and jogging up the gravel path. He paused at the slick black front door, the first waves of doubt washing over him. Before he could change his mind the door swung open and an elderly man strolled out. He nodded politely at Greg and held the door open for him to slip inside, apparently unconcerned by his slightly ragged appearance.

‘Thanks,’ Greg called, as the man walked off. He looked around the entrance way. The door to the ground floor flat stood slightly ajar, classical music playing softly within. A steep staircase spiralled upwards before him. Taking the steps two at a time, he bounded his way up to the third floor. He stopped to smooth his wrinkled t shirt and ruffle his hair before pressing the bell.

A lanky teenage boy answered, peering at him through the gap as he pulled the door slightly open. The boy was tall and pale with tangled black hair and piercing grey eyes. Convinced he had been fooled again, Greg sighed, preparing to make his apologies and then leave.

‘What do you want?’ the boy demanded, opening the door wider and placing a hand on his hip.

Something about the teenager’s voice made Greg pause. The rich smoothness was familiar, not to mention the snooty tone.

‘Is Mycroft there?’ he asked, uncertainly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing and role reversal...

The boy rolled his eyes and flung the door open, allowing him to enter. The room was bright and spacious. The floor was oak panelled and the walls a plain shade of cream. In the centre of the room a large leather sofa faced a television screen. A mahogany coffee table rested between them and rows of bookcases occupied the furthest wall.

‘Mycroft?’ the boy sighed with a winkled nose.

Greg shrugged, turning his attention back to the skulking figure. ‘I want to see him.’

 The boy folded his arms, eyes still fixed on Greg, and shouted, ‘Mycroft. Your boyfriend’s here.’

‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ Mycroft huffed, appearing from a nearby doorway and revealing a plush bedroom behind him. The man was wearing grey suit trousers but his shirt was casual, with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was barefoot. At the sight of Greg he stopped dead and turned pink. ‘Oh.’

‘Of course, you don’t,’ the boy sneered, throwing himself down onto the sofa. He lay on his back and watched them both.

‘Still single then?’ Greg grinned, taking a step forward.

Mycroft blinked at him uncertainly, before crossing his arms and attempting to look stern. ‘Why are you here?’

‘You gave me a fake number.’ Greg folded his arms to match, taking a step towards him. ‘Care to explain?’

Mycroft chuckled nervously as he was backed into a wall, his eyes widening. ‘I thought I’d test your interest.’

Greg grinned at him running his hands up the man’s arms to squeeze his shoulders. ‘And did I pass?’

‘This is repulsive,’ a disgusted voice piped up behind them.

‘Sherlock,’ Mycroft snapped, his eyes not moving from Greg’s face. ‘Why don’t you go and finish your experiment?’

‘So you can have sex?’ Sherlock asked in disgust. He groaned, and got to his feet, scowling. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen. Please don’t come near me until you’ve showered, brushed your teeth, changed your clothes and got rid of your bit of rough.’

He stalked out of the room closing the door behind him.

Mycroft sighed in relief, before smiling seductively at Greg. ‘You passed.’

Greg moved in closer, pressing their bodies firmly together against the wall. Eyeing up the man’s lips, he was just about to press their mouths together when a door swung open behind them.

‘Don’t make any noise,’ Sherlock shouted through it, before slamming it closed once more. 

 

Scowling in irritation at the interruption, Mycroft grabbed hold of Greg’s hands and pulled him across the room and in through the door to his bedroom. The room was decorated in a warm vanilla shade complementing the rich golden bed sheets which were, of course, immaculately pressed. The temptation to ruffle them up was overwhelming, and Greg could already think of several creative ways to do so.

‘We can do it in here,’ Mycroft breathed, closing the door behind them. He turned the key in the lock before flinging his arms around Greg’s neck and kissing him passionately.

‘Oh, can we?’ Greg murmured, pushing the man up against the door and grinding their hips together. Their proximity was enough to cause his cock to stir in his pants and his breath caught in his throat as their erections met in a rough collision.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft gasped, letting him begin to unbutton his shirt. He pressed his head down, encouraging him to kiss the bare skin he revealed.

Greg groped at Mycroft’s straining erection through his suit trousers, earning himself a sharp little moan. ‘Is that what you want?’ he asked against his ear, before biting possessively at his neck. He tugged down Mycroft’s zip as he did so.

‘Oh…’ Mycroft murmured, as Greg’s hand slid inside to palm at his cock through his underwear. ‘Yes.’

Greg rubbed at the firm cock, letting the man clutch onto his shoulders and breathe heavily into his neck. He slid his hand up and down the length slowly and teasingly, until Mycroft was whimpering into his shoulder.

‘Gregory,’ he gasped, bucking his hips forward into the grasp. ‘Please... I can’t wait any longer.’

 ‘Well…’ Greg forced himself to pull back. ‘I can.’ He zipped up the man’s trousers and found himself unable to restrain a victorious grin.

Mycroft opened his eyes and stared at him, still reclined breathlessly against the wall. The man’s hair was a tufted mess, his cheeks pink and his lips wet. He narrowed his cold, grey eyes and stood up straight, smoothing his clothing. ‘Of course you can,’ he sneered, resuming his usual icy tone.

‘You started this game, Mycroft,’ Greg reminded him, slightly regretfully. He would have liked nothing more than to shag the man there and then but, unusually, he had realised he wanted more than just sex from this relationship. He picked up a posh looking fountain pen from a nearby desk, and reached for the man’s arm. ‘Let me teach you some manners.’

The man pouted slightly, looking distinctly sulky as Greg began to scrawl numbers onto his pale, freckled skin. ‘I’m not going to call you,’ he sniffed, taking the pen and examining the ruined nib with a frown.

‘Yeah, you are,’ Greg smirked, his confidence restored. ‘That’s my _real_ number by the way.’

‘And if I do call?’ Mycroft asked, uncaringly. His eyes flickered down to the number on his arm, and rested there in brief consideration.

‘We can have a date.’

‘A date,’ Mycroft sighed woefully. ‘I see.’

‘Good,’ Greg squeezed his shoulder encouragingly, letting his thumb rub against the man’s neck as he did so. He winked as he opened the bedroom door. Disappearing through it, he strode across the apartment.

The young boy was back on the sofa and his eyes lit up as Greg walked out of the bedroom. The teenager chuckled at the sight of him leaving and, as the front door swung closed behind him, Greg distinctly heard him shout ‘Unlucky, Mycroft,’ across the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finally gets that date.

It took two weeks for Mycroft to ring, and when he finally did, Greg was greeted by absolute silence.

‘Hello?’ he repeated, ready to hang up. He was stretched out on the threadbare sofa enjoying a bottle of beer and wearing only a pair of faded grey boxers. At the sound of Mycroft’s voice, he hurriedly covered himself with a blanket and sat up very straight.

‘ _Alright,_ ’ was all the man said, his voice smooth and silky.

‘Eh?’ Greg queried, pressing the phone tightly to his ear, unable to prevent a broad grin from spreading over his face. He had half given up on ever hearing from the other man.

There came a weary sigh. ‘I’ll do it.’

Greg laughed, lying back down on the sofa. He threw his head back into the cushions and closed his eyes, resisting the urge to palm himself through his boxer shorts. Apparently even the man’s _voice_ was enough to get him in the mood. ‘Do _what?’_  he asked cheekily.

‘The… _date,’_ Mycroft hissed, as if the whole affair was a cause of great embarrassment.

There was a long pause during which Mycroft’s words hung in the air.

‘You asking me out then?’ Greg finally asked, vaguely aware that the nature of their relationship had just shifted dramatically. For the first time since they’d met, he wasn’t the one doing the chasing. He smirked at the embarrassed throat-clearing going on at the other end of the line. In his mind’s eye, he could see the man blushing.

‘I believe you asked me,’ Mycroft ventured uncertainly.

‘No,’ Greg reprimanded. ‘I told you to ring, and you did… to ask me on a date.’

‘Next weekend?’ Mycroft asked, ignoring the jibe. ‘There is a splendid restaurant on my street, which serves absolutely _wonderful_   venison.’

‘No.’ Greg had no intention of spending their first official date on Mycroft’s turf. He could already see how that would work out- a fancy meal in a posh restaurant with four different forks for each course and no opportunities for touching at all. He had no doubt the man would wine and dine him, kiss him on the cheek and then disappear home without him, leaving him with a long walk home and a lonely night in store. No. He wanted the man as nearby as possible. ‘Come over now,’ he said, unable to resist slipping a hand under the waistband of his boxers. ‘Takeaway, beer… films.’

There was a doubtful pause. ‘Films?’

‘Moving pictures, Mycroft,’ Greg teased. He bit his lip so as to stop himself saying anything that would reveal exactly how much he wanted to get the man into his flat.

‘Fine,’ Mycroft said. ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’

Slamming the phone down on the hook, the first thing Greg did was kick off his underwear and bound into the bathroom. Turning the shower on, he let the water warm before climbing in and working off his sexual frustration under the flow. Water filled his mouth as he shouted Mycroft’s name.

He towelled himself dry and, still naked, half attempted to tidy the flat. Eventually declaring it a lost cause, he returned to the bathroom mirror and wrapped a towel around his waist. After a hurried shave and a brief hair ruffle, he was ready. If luck was on his side that night, then he wouldn’t be needing any underwear so he decided to be optimistic and go without. Slipping into tight jeans and a grey tshirt, he looked himself up and down one last time.  He barely had chance to spritz on a little cologne before their came a loud knock at the door.

…

Apparently Mycroft Holmes did not _do_ dressing down. As Greg pulled open the door the man stepped smoothly over the threshold, wearing grey tweed trousers and a matching waistcoat. The white shirt beneath looked as if it had been ironed to within an inch of its life. An equally crisp white handkerchief was tucked neatly into the man’s left waistcoat pocket.

The only indication that he might be expecting a relaxed evening was the lack of a tie at his open collar. Greg’s eyes slipped down to follow the endless line of the man’s legs, leading to the lacquered leather of his shoes.

‘Finished staring?’ Mycroft asked, brushing past him in a way which made Lestrade’s heart lurch in his chest.

‘No,’ Greg retorted, crowding the man as he slipped off his shoes. He inhaled the rich scent of sweet tea and expensive tobacco. ‘I can think of a way you could get me to close my eyes though.’

Mycroft ignored him but the tips of his ears turned slightly pink. He took a step back and clasped his hands together, his eyes wandering around the small flat as he nibbled nervously at his soft, pink lips.

Greg stared some more- at the man’s long pale neck; his freckled skin; the soft, auburn curls of his hair. ‘Do you want a drink?’ he finally asked, remembering his manners.

‘A glass of wine would be lovely,’ Mycroft said, following him across the room to the cramped kitchenette.

‘Right…’ Greg opened the fridge door and assessed the empty shelves. ‘Um… will beer do?’

Mycroft rolled his eyes and reclined sassily against the work surface, folding his arms. ‘Is that all you can offer me, Gregory?’

‘I can offer you more than that, honey,’ Greg said with a grin. He grabbed two cans of beer and pressed one into Mycroft’s arms, leaning in to peck him on the cheek. ‘If you’re interested?’

The man licked his lips, cracking open the can of beer. He took a long sip and stood very still, looking Greg up and down. Tilting his head to one side, his eyes turned sultry and he set the can down behind him before widening his stance, leaving an inviting gap between his legs.

Greg didn’t need any more of an invitation than that. Leaving his own, unopened beer on top of the fridge, he moved in, pressing the man against the counter. Mycroft inhaled sharply as Greg shoved his knee between those long, slender legs and pushed his hand into the man’s curls.

‘Gregory…’ Mycroft began, turning his face away.

He was cut off as Greg pressed their lips roughly together, the words turning into a tortured moan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I can promise the next chapter will be posted much sooner.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

It didn’t take very long for Greg to work his hands underneath the cool material of Mycroft’s waistcoat. He swallowed the man’s moan as he slid his fingers over the sleek shirt beneath. His right thigh was rubbing up against the growing bulge at Mycroft’s crotch, sending shivers of pleasure ricocheting through both men.

Greg moved his lips to Mycroft’s neck and the man whimpered softly, clinging tightly to his waist. His breathing became gradually heavier as Greg sucked at the sensitive skin, and before long he was bucking his hips forwards, desperately seeking friction. ‘Oh, _God,’_ he whispered.

‘Want to move this to the bedroom?’ Greg asked, one hand leaving Mycroft’s waistcoat in order to tug sneakily at the man’s belt.

Mycroft went suddenly very still in his grasp and pulled away, barely returning the kisses that followed. ‘I thought we intended to watch films?’ he asked, smoothing his hair, and tugging at his waistcoat. He slithered out of Greg’s grasp and collected his beer can, holding it defensively up to his mouth.

‘You’re kidding me,’ Greg groaned, turning to face the counter top and dropping his head to rest on the cool surface. He took the opportunity to even his breathing and will his erection into submission.

Once he had collected himself, he turned to see Mycroft pretending to examine his beer can, frown lines marring his perfect face and a sheen to his grey eyes.

‘Alright,’ Greg said softly. He smiled, anxious to dispel the worry on the other man’s face. Turning to rummage in a drawer, he withdrew a creased takeaway menu. As he passed it to Mycroft he was careful to ensure their fingers brushed.

‘Choose food then, you minx,’ he winked and squeezed the man’s arm. ‘I’ll see if I can find something to entertain you.’

…

Thirty minutes later they were sat together on the sofa, eating thick slices of pizza and watching _Milk_ , eyes glued to the screen as James Franco sucked cream from Sean Penn’s face.

‘Want to clean _my_ face?’ Greg asked teasingly, sticking his pizza-greased lips in to Mycroft’s personal space.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but moved closer, leaving them pressed together on the tattered leather cushions. Licking his own fingers clean, Greg waited for several tense minutes before sliding his arm around the man’s shoulders. Sneaking a sideways glance at his date, he was relieved to see a hint of a smile on his lips, even whilst he stared resolutely at the screen.

They sat in companionable silence long into the evening, gradually moving nearer until they were melded tightly together, with Mycroft’s face half buried in Greg’s chest and Greg’s fingers trailing through his hair. When the film lost his interest, Greg began pressing kisses to the man’s head.

‘I’m not teasing you,’ Mycroft declared after one particularly lust filled sex scene, which had them wound tensely together in unmet need. He shook free of the embrace.

Greg chuckled, his laughter  
trailing off at the sight of the man’s face. He seemed entirely sincere, meeting Greg’s eye in sad resignation.

‘I’m just…’ there was a painfully long silence. ‘…nervous.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ Mycroft suddenly raised his voice, standing up with a dark look in his eyes. ‘I have been in love with you for two years, you stupid man.’

Greg’s mouth fell open. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, his heart beginning to thump. ‘Oh,’ he murmured.

‘Oh?’ Mycroft growled in frustration, stamping his foot. ‘I just told you I love you.’

‘You also called me stupid,’ Greg pointed out, unable to stop himself smiling. He was suddenly full of nervous energy.

Mycroft sighed and fell back down onto the sofa. He crossed his arms and stared sullenly at the opposite wall. ‘My apologies.’

‘Accepted.’ Greg moved in to murmur into his ear. ‘I have a bit of a crush on you too, y’know,’ he  teased.

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft turned on him and pressed a hand to the side of his face. ‘I want to have sex with you,’ he declared.

‘Okay,’ Greg nodded, reaching for the remote without looking away from the man’s face. Years of being a slob paid off, as he located the off button without a glance, leaving them in absolute silence.

‘But it’s been a while,’ the man continued, edging closer. He licked his lips nervously. ‘Two years to be precise.’

‘Just me?’ Greg asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. It seemed unbelievable to him that the first night they spent together could have been the man’s last and only time.

Mycroft nodded, dropping his hand and looking away.

‘I’ll look after you.’

The man looked up at him, raising his eyebrows in evident surprise at the affection in the words. He smiled slowly, his eyes regaining their usual spark. He pecked Greg on the lips gratefully, before affecting a sassy tone. ‘Well, get on with it then.’

‘Eh?’ Greg froze, his eyes darting over every inch of the man’s beautiful figure. His fingers were inching to reach out and _touch._ ‘Now?

Mycroft exhaled shakily, his hand trailing along Greg’s thigh. He nodded. ‘If you don’t mind.’

Greg locked lips with the man before either of them had chance to utter another word. Their mouths met gently at first in soft open mouthed kisses, before Mycroft whimpered and stuck his tongue down Greg’s throat. Throwing the man onto his back, Greg wriggled on top of him, locking their hips together as he returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm.

His fingers caught in the man’s belt loops, and he pulled at them in rough frustration, dragging him upwards to meet his movements as he began to thrust shamelessly. Mycroft stopped kissing him, turning his head away and breathing heavily. His hand landed on Greg’s arse squeezing it tightly, before roaming downwards to explore the gap between his thighs.

Still half expecting to be denied, Greg swiftly unbuttoned the man’s trousers. Looking upwards for confirmation before he continued, the expression on Mycroft’s face was answer enough and he pushed his hand underneath the layers of fabric.

The man made a strange strangled noise as his hand made contact with his cock, before clawing at Greg’s tshirt and shoving eager hands underneath. Long fingers slunk over the hot skin of his back, digging in heatedly as they rubbed furiously together.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft muttered.

Looking up, Greg’s heart swelled with pride at the sight of him. The man’s eyes were closed and his face screwed up in silent pleasure. ‘Yes?’

Mycroft opened his eyes and gazed down at him with a seductive smile. Sitting up, he trailed his hand down Greg’s chest and over the distended fabric at his crotch.  ‘Take me to bed.’

Several hours later, despite the pleasure burning through him as they lay joined together in his bed, Greg realised he would have waited for years for this moment. His mind full of the man’s moans, he pressed a gentle kiss to his neck before uncovering his ear from beneath a strand of hair, and whispering a soft, honest, ‘I love you too.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this far!
> 
> Thanks also for all your kudos and comments, which help to keep me writing.
> 
> And lots of love to mystrade-and-johnlock-fangirl, without whom this fic would never have existed.

**Author's Note:**

> I write Mystrade drabbles on Tumblr [here](http://drabblinginmystrade.tumblr.com)  
> Send me a prompt if you like!


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